Channeling

He yelled at us from his car window. Something about motherfuckers and lack of respect. We continued to skate the edge of the concrete flowerbed, each of us trying to land our tricks before it got dark and we’d have to make the drive back to Castlegar. Cerebral hemispheres of dust plumed as he tore into the parking lot of what I think was Christina Lake’s water treatment plant. He continued to yell. More about motherfuckers but now bookended with threats. We told him we’d leave soon––after we landed our tricks. He said we’d leave now and grabbed a hammer from his trunk as a catalyst.

I wondered about that man’s rage and if I was capable of irrationally threatening thirteen-to-sixteen year-olds like he had as I tried to walk up the escalator and was met with a blockage of teenagers who seemed incapable of grasping the concept of a fucking passing lane. I gripped my skateboard and hoped I could muster appropriate fury when the Skytrain pulled in and the kids ran to catch it. I followed, pretending they were running from me; another man with another issue who couldn’t think to say excuse me.